Burning Memories
by pajammies
Summary: Phyllis's wedding, Jim's point of view of everything that he is too afraid to say/do
1. Jim POV

"Cmon, Halpert, get yourself together". As if talking to myself is going to make this any easier. Karen's in the next room. Beautiful, smart, witty Karen. The Karen that Tom and Pete are jealous of. The Karen that captivated me in Stamford. The Karen that I am dating. So why the fuck am I feeling so empty?

I grabbed the toothbrush and slopped on some Crest SuperWhite toothpaste. Karen bought it for me. She said with the way I drink coffee, I am going to need some serious teeth remodeling. It's nice to have someone to look out for you, to care about where you are when you come home from work, to sleep next to and to want to be with you. It's nice to be cared for, it's nice to be wanted. Then why, why the hell don't I want her? She's so perfect—on paper.

But that's the thing. I hate paper. I sell paper for a living, and I fucking hate my job. I don't want to think about paper anywhere other than work, and I don't even want to think of it at work. So while Karen may be great on paper, she's not great in real life. Yet here I am, getting ready for a wedding and the ultimate professing of love, with a woman that, to me, is just a sheet of paper. But here's the kicker: I'm pretending I don't care.

I look in the mirror and I don't even recognize the man looking back at me. What happened? I've never let my feelings get to me before. In fact, I don't think I've ever even had feelings before. Coach always said that pain was for sissies, and true athletes have no room for pain. That's why when I broke my nose during the championship game of junior year, I put a bandage on, sucked it up, and went out there to win. I guess I always thought pain was just physical. I was too naïve to realize that emotional pain could even exist. But now I know all too well. I'm 27 years old faking my way through life in a meaningless job and meaningless relationship, while I have to sit and stare all day at the only thing that's ever meant anything to me. I've never felt this empty, even before The Incident. God, I hope she doesn't wear that blue dress again. I can'… I just can't.

I remember the way the it caught her eye, the subtle sparkle in the dress bringing out the subtle blue in her eyes. The way it framed her figure, hugging her in all the right places, making me wish that I could hug her in all the right places too. The way it hung from her womanly curves, but not in a trashy way. Everything about it was elegant. Everything about her was elegant.

I remember the way it felt, too, like a sturdy silk in my fingers. It was soft, but not as delicate and flimsy as the stuff Katy would wear. Katy was flashy, Pam was modest. Katy liked to shop, Pam liked to paint. Katy was outgoing, Pam was reserved. Katy was hot, but Pam was beautiful.

Stop Jim. Just quit while you're ahead. You know what thinking about this night does to you—feelings of anger, regret, longing, and sadness. Don't think about the way it felt when she held your hand. Don't think about how it was like all of your nerve endings had swam to your fingertips, propelled by your anticipation. Don't think about how when she touched you, it was almost too much to handle, as if her fingers had some sort of magic lying inside them that seared through your white hot skin. Did she know? Could she see my heart pounding out of my chest? Could she feel the way my fingers, arms, whole body was sweating? Did she realize how I trembled as I held her, so unbelievably happy yet so fucking afraid that it wouldn't last? Could she understand how much that moment had meant to me? Could sh—

"JIM! Can you come zip me up?"

Right. Karen.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the reality of my situation and exhaling any thoughts of Pam.

Karen had made it a habit of getting ready in my room. She thought I liked to see her getting dressed in my closet. She thought it made us closer, that she could dress for the day surrounded by the essence of me. She thought all this, but she was wrong.

I grabbed her zipper, and it moved easily up her slim frame. Her dress, dark blue, looked great on her, it really did. But it was harsh, it was boxy, it was dark. It was, pretty much, Karen in dress form.

"Hair up or down?"

I pretended to think about it, putting my hand to my chin and squinting my eyebrows. It didn't matter to me whether it was up or down. I wasn't going to be looking at her anyway. I just wanted to hang out with Pam, and have an excuse this time. And maybe I could even dance with her, and blame it on the alcohol. The thought of it all excited me, and I was ready to make my move. "Up," I said.

"I should have known. You always like my hair back when we play"

Really I just wanted to leave already, and I knew she would take longer if I had said to put it down. And about the "playing", it was just because I didn't want her hair to touch me. When it would, all I could smell was Pam's soft, curly locks. Karen had straight, rigid hair. I would tell her I liked it tied back because I wanted to see her whole face.

I grabbed a tie and started putting it on as I tried to figure out how I got to this place. I mean, not this _literal_ place—I know how I got this apartment. Just the place I'm at in life. I know I didn't mean for this stuff with Karen to get this….messed up. She was just supposed to be a thing to distract me from Pam as I adjusted to my new life in Stamford. I didn't think she would actually follow me back to Scranton. I guess I gave her the wrong impression. Or maybe I was too stupid to even realize the implications of her coming. I thought she would help me forget about Pam. I didn't realize it would be the complete opposite. Every time I look at Karen, I think Pam. I touch her and I feel Pam. I look through her at the office, look right through to Pam. I thought I could control these two worlds of mine colliding, but I clearly couldn't.

"Cmon Halpert, what are you painting your nails in there? Let's go already!"

It might have been funny if it was coming from Pam.

The wedding ceremony was bittersweet. It was nice to see Phyllis so happy and spirited, but I couldn't help but think that this might never happen for me. It took Phyllis 40 something years to fall in love. I've never been much of a sap, but I want to get married. I want to have kids, teach them how to play baseball, and spoil my little girl when her Mom's not looking. I'm drifting off, picturing a future marriage, and trying my hardest to imagine it with the girl that's sitting next to me, holding my hand, and not with the one that's a few rows above twiddling her fingers.

Karen and Jim, Jim and Karen. The Halperts. The homecoming queen of Greenwich High and the basketball captain of East Scranton. We could live in my parent's old house, unless Karen wants something more extravagant. She's like that sometimes, but mostly just when I suggest pizza and she tells me that I need to be cultured and we end up going out for Thai. I shouldn't complain though, I liked it. Karen has introduced me to new things. We could start a new life together. Our kids would be funny, smart, and hey, pretty damn cute. But she might as well be infertile for all I care. I don't want to have children with her. I can't picture us being parents together. Come to think of it, I can't picture her as a parent at all.

Pam would be a great Mom. She would be warm and loving, the kind of Mom that would be in a magazine giving tips on the little things to do to raise your children properly. She would make them cookies and milk after school, and help them with their homework. She'd paint with them, and wouldn't get mad if they spilt any paint on the counter.

Karen nudges me. "What the hell, Halpert, I know this is boring but you shouldn't fall asleep."

Somewhere in between the smell of fresh cookies and the imagination of Pam painting with my children, I closed my eyes. Not to fall asleep as Karen insinuated, but to really picture myself being there. I have to remind myself that this isn't an imagination, it's a hallucination. It's my fucked up brain responding to the drug-like influence that Pam has over me. I want these feelings to be gone. I look over at Karen and she's smiling. She's really pretty. God, I sound like a caveman. Jim like Karen. Karen hot.

I spend the rest of the ceremony thinking about Karen, justifying to myself that she's a great date. She's making me laugh even at the most serious of times, as she mocks "I, Bob Vance, of Vance Refrigeration, take thee Phyllis…" We snicker and divert our attention to Michael, whose comical attempts are verging on wildly inappropriate. We're laughing, this is good. Pam is alone and Karen is my date. So why am I the one that's hurting?

I'm able to realize that I'm being…well, annoying. I'm needy and emotional and I cant appreciate what I have. So I go to the bar and take a shot. It burns on the way down, and I tell myself that it's burning the longing for Pam. With each shot, I grow more and more numb to anything that my heart might be telling me. Four shots down, and I decide to make my appearance on the dance floor. I grab Karen's waist from behind, and she giggles and turns around to kiss me.

"Halpert, I smell the alcohol on your breath. Is this how you woo a lady?"

"No, but it's how I woo you," I say as I dip her and lean in for a Hollywood kiss.

"Oh, okay. I could get used to that"

I'm feeling happy. Lightheaded, sure, but happy too. Karen and I dance together, and I press my forehead to hers and rock her slightly back and forth. She gently spins around and that's when it happens. Not that "it" is anything significant.

It was just a simple turn of direction. A 180. I'm holding Karen and swaying to the music as I look directly in Pam's eyes, now in my clear view. A directional 180 and an emotional. My happiness and playfulness are gone. I may have tried to burn the memories of Pam, but their ashes dissolved in my bloodstream and are currently flooding my heart. I need another drink. Actually, no. I need a cup of water.

My high has disappeared and I grab a glass of water from the bar. Suddenly I am very aware of how loud and off-key Kevin and his band are playing "Roxanne". I step outside and linger, doing anything to just not go back in there. Then she comes out.

I turn around and there she is, so beautiful. She doesn't need to wear flashy colors or put on makeup or do her hair. She's wearing brown and a shawl. I cant help but think that nobody else in the world looks good in brown. I'm still drunk, but I feel like my happiness has returned.

I can't help but talk to her, even if it's just small talk.

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

I guess I didn't think of an exit plan. What do I say now? C'mon Jim, anything.

"So when are we gonna get to see some of those famous Beesly dance moves?"

Why. Why did I say that? I don't want her to dance out there without me. I don't want other people to see her "moves", the moves that would make me fall in love with her all over again. I don't want some asshole to see how great she is and take her away from me—again.

"Ha. Ha. I'm pacing myself."

I don't know what else to say. I don't want the conversation to end, so I keep pushing her, even though I know she would never dance out there without the safety net of a partner.

"Come on. Get out there; give the people what they want."

What I really wanted to say was 'give me what I want'.

"No, I'm such a dorky dancer."

The way she laughed at herself was captivating. She didn't need to flaunt her dancing like other girls, she didn't need to shake and grind to get the satisfaction of men. The way she danced was just like everything else she was to me—perfect. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was my heart talking for once, but I just came out with it without really even thinking

"I know and it's very cute."

That moment lost us as Dwight came barging through with some old man he was throwing out on the street. I figured I should probably follow the man, as it was my fault for telling Dwight that he was probably a wedding crasher. But I couldn't bear to leave this place, this place where I had nearly said to Pam what I have been thinking since I arrived back at Scranton. I turned around to ask her to share her dorky dance moves with me, but she was gone.

Instead I find the camera crew, looking back at me as if they were yearning for my words. Why the fuck are these guys always here during some of my lowest and most personal moments?

And then there it was, the question I had been waiting for. Too, the question that I continue to ask myself every day.

"Hypothetically, if Pam was interested, would you dump Karen for her?"

Hearing the words said out loud made them more real. For some reason, I was not appalled at the crew as I should have been for suggesting I dump my girlfriend. I was not annoyed with them jumping at me asking such a personal question. I wasn't even that mad that they stopped me from asking Pam to dance just a few seconds ago. All I could think about was that they _knew_ something. They know what Pam says behind closed doors. They know what she thinks about Karen and I. They might even know if Pam has feelings for me. It took all of my energy to restrain myself from asking "Do you know if she's interested?"

Instead I gave a noncommittal response. Actually, I don't even know if it counts as a response so much as it is a regurgitation of what they had just asked.

"Hypothetically…if Pam was interested then…. No, it's totally hypothetical."

I was not going to pour my heart out to these guys, especially if they were not forthcoming with any information.

I started to walk away before I even really finished my sentence—as if that mattered. I sat down at a chair. Karen found me before I found her.

"Where you been?"

"Bathroom"

How long had I even been gone? All that happened in between leaving to get a glass of water, nearly asking Pam to dance, and then another untimely encounter with the camera crew made it seem like I had been gone for an hour. I don't know how long I talked to Pam for, but when I'm talking to her, I'm never thinking about petty things such as time.

"Really? That long?" She looked concerned. Or was it doubtful?

"Yeah, got some …stomach problems" Nice Jim, lie to your girlfriend and make her believe you're constipated. Real admirable.

"Sounds sexy. Oh Jim, Take me now!"

She was laughing, but I don't know why. Not only was it not funny, but it was loud. What if Pam heard? I hope Pam didn't hear. I looked over to see if she showed any indication of hearing. I mean, I'm she knows that me and Karen do .. ya know. We are dating after all. But I like to think that she suppresses that in favor of thinking that I'm holding out for her. Which, I kind of am. Karen and I aren't intimate all that often.

I look over and see her laughing in some other conversation. I feel relieved, she looks unfazed by what Karen had just practically screamed. The relief disappears when I realize who she's laughing with.

Goddamnit, when is she going to stop with that guy? I guess I don't really have a leg to stand on though. I had my chance. I could have come back when I heard she called off the wedding. I could have been straight with Karen from the get go and told her that I'm in love with someone from Scranton and I want her as soon as I get back. But no, I had to have my pride. My stupid, good for nothing, pride.

I turn away from those two, feeling nauseous. Or maybe that's just my fake constipation. Who knows with me anymore, I'm just a fucking mess. I'm just staring into my knees, hands on my forehead as I hear Karen's voice on the microphone.

"Hey, this is Karen Fillapelli, here to sing Every Breath you Take, to entertain my boyfriend. Sorry if his entertainment comes at your expense"

I smiled a little. I liked that Karen cared about him, even if I have to lie to her and shes trying to entertain me for all the wrong reasons. She looked happy up there, bouncing around, and singing without a care in the world. I had to stand up, I had to at least acknowledge that this was for me.

I started waving my cell phone, to show her that I was into it. And I can honestly say I was.

I really liked watching her up there. It was like a Karen I had never seen. She wasn't the rigid, suit wearing, paper salesman *ahem, saleswoman*, she was fun and youthful. She wasn't the girl that I was in a loveless relationship with, she was a girl that…well I'm not quite sure who she was up there. She pointed at me as she said "Every move you make.." All the guys in the room were looking up at her, probably waiting for her to take her dress off. They all wanted to be me. I didn't.

As I grabbed Karen's hand to help her get down from the stage, I saw Pam and … _him_ out of the corner of my eye. I don't even want to say his name. Not that it's like, a Lord Voldemort kind of thing. Just that I hate hearing their names together. They were leaving together. He put his arm around her delicate shoulder and escorted her out. It was like a bad trainwreck. I didn't want to watch, but I had to.

Pam was going home with Roy. I was going home with Karen. We both had someone to go home with.

Why couldn't it be with each other?

This time, I really had to go to the bathroom. All of the water drinking and shot taking..well, it adds up on a bladder. I told Karen I'd be right back.

"Are you OK?" she asked

Oh..god. Does she know about Pam? Can she see it in my eyes? Has she finally put two and two together? Does she realize why I've been so distant since we got back to Scranton? I'm not ready for this conversation now. Not after what just happened, at least.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

It's not a lie. I will be fine. I will be fine. I will be fine.

"Okay." She said. Then she whispered into my ear "I have some Tums in my car if you need."

Right. That's what this is all about. I forgot, I'm constipated.

"Nah," I said, waving her off, as I pretended to grasp my stomach in pain.

I look in the mirror in the bathroom. "C'mon Jim. Get. It. Together" I splash some water on my face, hopefully to bring me back to reality instead of this Pam fantasy I've been playing over in my head all night. I wonder how many times I have to look at myself in a mirror to figure out who I really am.

I walk out of the bathroom, feeling a little bit fresher and a little more in check. I think about Karen, how we're going to go home tonight together. Karen. Beautiful, smart, witty Karen. She looks out for me. She knows what's best for me. She's good for me.

In the middle of my stream of thought, I am once again accosted by the camera crew.

"Hypothetically, do you think you and Pam would be happier together?"

The question burns me at my core. There is no me and Pam. There never was. I was not anything to her but an office friend, someone to distract her from Roy until it was time to go home. And now, as they go home together again, I feel like…well, I can't feel anything. She has drained me of my senses. I am numb.

"Here's a non-hypothetical: Karen and I are really happy together"

And for a moment, I almost believe it's true.


	2. Pam POV

I knew today would suck. I knew it from the moment Phyllis handed me her save-a-date on the same stationary as the one that I had prepared what seems like years ago now. But my intuitions were further confirmed when my alarm clock remained shockingly silent through the hours of eight and nine, and the first thing I woke up to was a call from Michael at 9:45 a.m

"PAMWOW! Have you ever heard of a Shamwow?"

Wow. That was too much loud for this hour of the morning. It must be, what, 5:30 a.m? I still have three hours left to sleep.

"Yes…Michael…why are you calling me so early to talk about unnecessary cleaning inventions?"

"No, I don't want to talk about it. I ordered it last week; it will arrive sometime on Monday. Then we can talk about it."

"Okay…well…Michael, why couldn't this wait for when I come in to work?"

"Well Sir Pamalot, that's what I'm calling about. When exactly do you plan on coming in?"

"The same time I'm always in Michael. I'll be there at 9. Now I'm going back to sleep, I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"WAIT, PA-"

I hung up on him and rolled over to casually see what time it was so that I could maybe count this "work" phone call as overtime or something. I was still really tired, so I was hoping that it would be around 5:30, but if it was any later than 6:30 I decided I would just get up and make myself pancakes and maybe blow out my hair. I was clearly not prepared to see the numbers 9,4, and 5 (in that order) almost evilly mocking me. "SHIT!" I screamed, and dramatically threw off my covers as I sprinted into the bathroom.

As I brushed my teeth, I contemplated whether or not it would be worth it to try and feign a shower. I was definitely going to take one later tonight before Phyllis's wedding. My hair had that day-old look, but it wasn't notably greasy or anything. I held the toothbrush in my mouth using only my teeth as I used my hands to pull back my hair into a modest ponytail: low, and at the base of my neck. Perfectly centered. I had seen Karen wear a ponytail to the office once: firmly situated on the top of her head, leaning ever so slightly to the left side, as her side swept bangs framed the right side. She had taken the day off to visit her mother in Stamford, but wanted to come in early to pick up her paycheck. Jim was out too that day. I remember thinking that he was probably waiting for her in the car, and I craned my neck out the window to see if this was true. Sure enough, there was his Corolla, parked by the entrance, as he waited outside talking to the security guard. He was so painfully friendly. He could make conversation with anyone. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt—were those the same shorts from the basketball game? I remembered how masculine he looked, his long legs taking twice the strides of Roy's as he sprinted down the court and powering to the basket. The bagginess of the shorts fluttered around his legs, occasionally accentuating his perky little butt. Yea, these were definitely the same shorts, I thought as he jogged to the car door to open it for Karen before she got there. She was wearing long shorts too—definitely not women's. I wondered if they had just gone to the gym together. I could picture the two of them running on treadmills next to each other, spotting each other as they lifted weights, and gently wiping the sweat off their foreheads before leaning in for a kiss.

Okay Pam, this is really not the time to torture yourself. You've been over this stuff a thousand times, and right now you really need to focus on looking somewhat presentable within the next 30 seconds. If you can get out of here by 9:50, you can still make it to work by 10, and maybe even avoid the first conference room meeting of the day.

After the successful combination of teeth brushing and hair styling (I did, of course, use a different brush for each), I threw on a loose navy blue skirt, since I didn't have time to wiggle into my typical pencil gray one. I grabbed a pink striped blouse and a gray cardigan, and slipped on my sneakers without even undoing the laces from yesterday. Everything about me today was just old, like the leftovers from a great Italian meal. It was like going to Antonio's, ordering the Monday night lasagna special, and savoring every bite your stomach can fit, over red wine and the cheesecake encore. You wrap up the broccoli and the scraps of the meal, maybe the burnt pasta, the meat that couldn't stay in place. You try to eat it for lunch the next day, but it's just, well, awful, and you wonder why you even bought it in the first place. That was me. I was the leftovers. The stuff nobody wanted anymore. My novelty had worn off. But Karen…Karen was a lasagna special. Maybe even a movie matinee.

I ran out the door, grabbing a Chewy bar and a water bottle. Nice Pam. Is this supposed to be breakfast or lunch? I hopped in the car and promptly decided that it would be breakfast, as I turned the key in the ignition while simultaneously shoving half of the flavorless brown muck in my mouth. I threw my car into reverse, and slammed on the gas; not caring that I just ran over today's newspaper and edged the curb as I turned out. I ran stop signs and sped up for yellow lights, and even turned 'right on red' despite the traffic sign that told me not to. I wasn't sure why I was in such a hurry to get to work today. Work sucks. I don't talk to anyone and I don't have any real responsibilities. Could it really be that I was rushing so that I didn't miss an hour of pay? Did I honestly believe that some sort of serious emergency would happen at work, all because the receptionist wasn't there? Or was I just desperately anxious to see Jim?

Yea, that was definitely it. As I ran up the office stairs (not running the risk of waiting for the elevator) and plopped down at my desk, Jim casually wandered over.

"Beesly, Beesly, Beesly. Are you moonlighting as a stripper again?"

"Yea, you caught me. This was actually the outfit I wore, too."

"Oh yeah? How'd that go over?"

"Well it was going really great unti—"

"Jim, can you come look at these pictures and tell me which dress I should wear tonight?"

And with that, he was gone. Not _gone_ gone, but gone to the other side. The Karen side. I watched as he leaned over her desk, with his elbows bending slightly in the wrong direction. Double jointed, I had learned, as he showed me how he could click his thumb in and out of place. I wonder if Karen knew that about him.

I pretended to make a copy of something just so I could pass the desk and see what Karen was showing him. How exactly did she plan on picking out a dress tonight, and either getting it delivered by 7 pm or counting on finding it, in the exact color and size, in the store?

Oh. She was showing him pictures from her Facebook. Pictures from nights out with her girlfriends, her cousin's wedding, and the renewing of her parents' vows. I felt a pang of pain; I had a Facebook too, but I didn't have nearly as many pictures as she did. I didn't have "Girls Night Out", and I was camera shy even at the most intimate of family functions. I had pretty much given up all my girlfriends when I was with Roy. I gave up a lot of things for Roy.

I spent the rest of the day fairly sedentary at my desk, playing Minesweeper and beeping in phone calls to Michael. I'm not good at Minesweeper. I'm not even sure if I fully understand the concept. I see all these red flags and I click anyway, only to find out that I get bombed. But I'm addicted to the game. I couldn't help but wonder that Minesweeper was a lot like my own life. I see the red flags Jim puts up, he's with Karen, he's changed, I had my chance. But I try to ignore it. I want something to happen. And at the end of the day, I'm always "bombed". Turned down. Alone. But I'm addicted to the pain.

Later that day, I got to _actually_ get ready. I took a long, hot shower, thinking of the conclusion I had just come to. I am addicted to the pain. I put myself in these painful situations because I think I deserve it. I deserve everything I get, it's my own fault for being so stupid in the past. I turn the shower water hotter, and hotter still, until I can see the steam swirling off my arms with every movement. My crappy apartment has crappy water pressure (it's all I could afford) but with the pure energy of the heat in each droplet, I feel like volcanic rocks are pounding against my body, and I have no defense. I don't turn it colder. I let them burn me. I can only hope that they burn me enough to help me realize that the past is over.

I step out of the shower, gently combing my hair with my fingers as I wrap a pale yellow towel around me. It's nice to take a relaxing shower and not have to worry about Roy trying to rip my towel off as I come out. I walk over to my closet, which is only a mere 10 feet from my bathroom. Which, coincidentally, is only about 20 feet from the kitchen. The apartment is small and cluttered with my things. I wonder if moving out was the right choice—my new place is so cramped that I can't even have my family over for dinner. But I like the clutter, it makes me feel less lonely. Like someone else is here, someone else shares this space with me. No one person could entirely _over_fill an apartment with their single belongings.

I stare into my closet blankly, waiting for a dress to pop out at me. I really only have a couple of dresses, since I haven't really been to that many events. Each one has its own story.

My prom dress. Pink, empire-waist, sweetheart neckline.

_My first time_

A pale yellow sun dress. Halter top, with white embroidery.

_Roy asked me to marry him at my college graduation._

A brown, silk dress. Spaghetti straps, tight at the top but flared at the bottom.

_Roy's sister's wedding. The day he actually bought me a ring._

A light blue, somewhat sheer, taffeta dress. Slight V-neck, some pleating to the knee.

_My other first time._

Of course, a person can only have one first time for everything. So with the blue dress, it wasn't my first time in bed, but it was my first time in passion. I had never felt anything like that with Roy. I knew I liked Jim, and sometimes I was confused about how _much_ I liked him. That night, I knew it. It was the first time I felt fireworks. Growing up in Scranton, you don't really see flashing lights in the sky, only the neon lit signs of the local diner, reading "OPEN". In fact, the first time I had even seen fireworks was with Jim on the roof. But now, I felt them. I understood what people meant when they there were "sparks" between a couple. My body was on fire, exploding at Jim's lightest touch, creating a beautiful spectacle in my brain of a future that we could make together. The blues and greens of his eyes, the red of his lips, and the slight purple undertones of his veiny arms swirled together to create a brilliant fireworks show in my heart. These were no Scranton fireworks, created by Dwight and his cousin, these fireworks were worthy of the 4th of July in Manhattan.

I touched the dress, feeling its softness in my hands. I pressed it to my cheek; it still smelled like Jim. I took a deep breathing, letting his scent and the memories of that night course through my body, refilling me with a sensation that I had since lost. I shivered, knowing that it was not coming back again. I couldn't wear this dress tonight, especially when Jim would be so close to me.

I was logically left with only one choice for an October wedding; the brown spaghetti strap dress. I pushed aside the memories of being a bridesmaid for Roy's sister, Valerie. They weren't as pungent as the blue dress memories anyway. I looked at myself in the mirror, tugging at the dress, trying to make myself look a little bit nice. I hate brown, it's not my color. It would probably look great on Karen—she could pull off anything.

I did my hair and makeup in a daze, still lost in the memories of the casino night. I called Angela to see if she was ready for me to pick her up. She was shocked that I hadn't left yet, saying I only had 2 hours to get to her house and to the wedding. I told her that I think we'll be fine, as she only lives 10 minutes from me and the wedding is at the local church.

After listening to the Little Drummer Boy on repeat, as per Angela's request, we pulled into the church parking lot about 45 minutes early. I went inside and sat down by myself. Angela had instructed me to read the Bible as I got in there, saying "It would do you some good, Pam." I picked it up, and flipped through the pages, not really looking for anything, but just trying to occupy my time. I glanced around the church, admiring the wedding presentation. Phyllis has great taste, I thought. Then I realized that Phyllis just had great taste in choosing who to copy. Everything was from my wedding. I wasn't mad about her laziness, or mad that she didn't ask me to use her ideas, I was just mad that I would have to sit through what was supposed to be _my _wedding, alone. At least it's better than sitting through it with Roy, I thought.

The time I had to spend waiting actually passed relatively fast, as I spent the time thinking about how I was sure I made the right choice. Yet I couldn't ignore my delusion. I made the right choice, calling off the wedding for Jim. But here I am, single and 20 something, and _not_ with Jim. As the music started playing, the whole audience turned around to see Phyllis. I turned around to see Jim. He looked so handsome, with his long hair tucked behind his ears, his broad shoulders defined in that jacket. I tried to look past Karen kissing him on the cheek, then wiping off the lipstick stain with her thumb. I must have been staring for too long though, as I made awkward eye contact with Karen and had to pretend that I was waving to Angela to their right.

Phyllis and Bob made their vows, promising to always protect each other, love each other, and make each other happy. I felt confident again, in knowing that I could not have said these vows to Roy and meant them, and he couldn't have meant them for me. Like the time that I had to walk home from Poor Richards, because he didn't want to wake up to take me home. That wasn't protecting me. Or the time he chose to "do" Angela during the Survivor Island game. That wasn't loving me. Or most of all, the fact that he wasn't Jim. That wasn't making me happy.

As soon as the reception started, I went to the bar to get a glass of champagne, fully taking advantage of the open bar. I sat down at a table and began to feast on the chicken francese; a dish that I had, of course, placed on the menu for my own wedding. Kevin's band started playing, but I of course had no desire to dance. I took my anger out on the chicken in front of me, violently cutting it into little squares that were too little to even be eaten. As I lifted the fork to my mouth, I saw Jim and Karen out of the corner of my eye. I let the chicken sit in my mouth, too frozen to move. Jim was holding her closely, looking into her eyes, with his head leaning into hers and the slightly upturned smile that only he was capable of. I gulped down my food, whole, as I watched them sway back on forth. It was as if there was a magnetic field between my eyes and their love, I just couldn't look away. And then it happened.

Suddenly he was facing me. He was looking directly at me. His smile faded—was that my fault? Is he that disappointed to see me?

Our stares held for a few more seconds than what would be socially acceptable. I wondered if he was thinking of me in that moment, _really_ thinking of me. Thinking of the way we used to laugh together, talk together, joke together. The way we kissed together. The way we were together.

He broke Karen's grip and walked to the bar, then took a step outside. I decided to follow him. I just wanted to do anything to be near him. He was within my reach, yet he was still so distant.

He said "Hey" first. I told myself that was a good sign. Did he want to talk to me as much as I wanted to talk to him?

"Hey"

"So when are we going to get to see some of those famous Beesly dance moves"

I could show them to you in private, I thought. We could dance outside together. We could make this night just us.

"Ha. Ha. I'm pacing myself"

"Come on. Get out there; give the people what they want"

I owe the people out there nothing. But I would give you anything you want, Jim. Anything. Please let me make up for my mistakes.

"No, I'm such a dorky dancer"

"I know. It's very cute"

My heart skipped a beat. Did he just say that? Does he still think I'm cute? Am I a fourteen year old girl again?

I was paralyzed by the moment when Dwight marched by with an old man, escorting him out the door. And then I saw the camera crew approaching. I knew I had to make a quick getaway. I tried to pretend to help the old man with Dwight. I can't talk to anyone right now, let alone cameras. I don't think I could physically come out with any words.

And then Jim was gone. I saw him go back into the dance floor somewhere between the time when I stopped forming rational thought and picked up a watermelon slice. I lingered in the same spot, hoping for him to come back out and we can talk again. We don't even have to dance or kiss. We can just talk. About something, anything. Just talk.

But he had left, to talk to the girl he really wanted to. Karen. Jim is with Karen. Not me. I am with this champagne and watermelon slice. And no one else.

Just as I finished convincing myself that I'm not with anyone, I hear "You were meant for me" coming from the next room. Great, I think. Mine and Roy's song. I begin to think that I was foolish for ever believing that we were meant for each other. I turn to go to the bathroom, hoping to wait out this song, as I see Roy coming towards me. He tells me that he paid the band twenty bucks to play this song.

Perhaps it's because I'm vulnerable, or because I'm going to get my period, or because I want to make Jim jealous, or maybe it's because I really do just want someone to dance with. I follow him. I want to be held, I want someone to care for me. Even if it is Roy. So I let him take my hand and guide me into the next room, although I have doubts. This is a slippery slope I'm about to step on—dancing with Roy, at what seems to be my very own wedding? I don't want to start things up with him again, not now that I know what true feelings are.

We dance in the corner of the room, me not wanting Kelly to criticize my dance moves, and Roy not wanting his friends to think that he's a sap. We go fairly unnoticed for the remainder of our song.

Then Karen steps up to the mic, saying that she's going to perform for Jim. He's laughing, and waving his cell phone. This is what couples act like. They giggle, they play with each other, they love each other. Karen loves Jim. And Jim is now taking her hand and gently bringing her down to his level, presumably to kiss her. I can't watch, so I concede to Roy's pleas to go back to his place.

I think I made the right choice. Right? Didn't I? Jim is going home with Karen. I am going home with Roy. We both have a chance to be happy. It's okay if it's not with each other. Right? I managed to live the first 26 years of my life without him, without his touch, without his soft lips and strong arms. Without his caring nature, his sarcasm, and his cute, perky butt. Without his kiss, his passion, his heart. I can live without him. If I could do it for 26 years, I could certainly do it for tonight.

And for a second, I almost believe myself.


End file.
